MR. DAVIES'S GIFTS
Mr. Davies did not seem at all surprised to see us when we entered, and
he turned round and faced us.
The poor little man had lived so long among his musty books that the
real world had become as it were a kind of dream to him, wherein people
came like shadows and people went like shadows, and where still the
battered battalions of his books abided with him.
But he seemed very well pleased to see us, and shook us both warmly by
the hands and called us by our right names, without confounding either
of us with the other, and had us into his little back parlour and
pressed strong waters upon us, all very hospitably.
Of the strong waters Lancelot and I would have none, for in those days I
never touched them, nor did Lancelot. I never drank aught headier than
ale in the time when I used to frequent the Skull and Spectacles, and
as for Lancelot, who was a gentleman born and used to French wines, he
had no relish for more ardent liquors. Then he begged we would have a
dish of tea, of which he had been given a little present, he said, of
late; and as it would have cut him to the heart if we had refused all
his proffers, we sat while he bustled about at his brew, and then we all
sipped the hot stuff out of porcelain cups and chatted away as if the
world had grown younger.
Mr. Davies was full of curiosity about our departure and the Captain's
purpose, and did not weary of putting questions to us, or rather to
Lancelot, for he soon found that I knew but little of our business
beyond the name of the ship. To be sure, I do not think that Lancelot
really knew much more about it than I did, but he could talk as I never
could talk, and he made it all seem mighty grand and venturesome and
heroic to the little bookseller.
When we rose Mr. Davies rose with us and followed us into the shop, when
he insisted that each of us should have a book for a keepsake. He groped
along his shelves, and after a little while turned to us with a couple
of volumes under his arm.
Mr. Davies addressed Lancelot very gravely as he handed him one of the
volumes.
'Master Lancelot,' he said, 'in giving you that book I bestow upon you
what is worth more than a king's ransom--yea, more than gold of Ophir
and peacocks and ivory from Tarshish, and pearls of Tyre and purple of
Sidon. It is John Florio's rendering of the Essays of Michael of
Montaigne, and there is no better book in the world, of the books that
men have made for men, the books that have no breath of the speech of
angels in them. Here may a man learn to be brave, equable, temperate,
patient, to look life--aye, and the end of life--squarely in the face,
to make the most and best of his earthly portion. Take it, Master
Lancelot; it is the good book of a good and wise gentleman, and in days
long off, when I am no more, you may remember my name because of this my
gift and be grateful.'
Then he turned to me and handed me the other book that he had been
hugging under his arm.
'For you, my dear young friend,' he said, 'I have chosen a work of
another temper. You have no bookish habit, but you have a gallant
spirit, and so I will give you a gallant book.'
He opened the volume, which was a quarto, and read from its title-page
in his thin, piping voice, that always reminded me somewhat of his own
old bullfinch.
'A New, Short, and Easy Method of Fencing; or, the Art of the Broad and
Small Sword, Rectified and Compendiz'd, wherein the practice of these
two weapons is reduced to so few and general Rules that any Person of
indifferent Capacity and ordinary Agility of Body may in a very short
time attain to not only a sufficient Knowledge of the Theory of this
art, but also to a considerable adroitness in practice, either for the
Defence of his life upon a just occasion, or preservation of his
Reputation and Honour in any Accidental Scuffle or Trifling Quarrel. By
Sir William Hope of Balcomie, Baronet, late Deputy-Governor of the
Castle of Edinburgh.'
I should not have carried such a string of words in my memory merely
from hearing Mr. Davies say them over once. But they and the book they
spoke of became very familiar to me afterwards, and I know it and its
title by root of heart.
Lancelot thanked him for us both in well-chosen words, such as I should
never have found if I had cudgelled my brains for a fortnight.
Then we wrung Mr. Davies's hands again, and he wished us God-speed, and
we came out again into the open street, where the day had now well
darkened down.
As we walked along the High Street with our books under our arms
Lancelot gave me many particulars concerning his uncle's scheme and his
means for furthering it.
It would appear that Captain Marmaduke had for some time cherished the
notion of an ideal colony. The thought came originally into his head, so
Lancelot fancied, from his study of such books as the 'Republic' of
Plato and the 'Utopia' of Sir Thomas More, works I had then never heard
of, and have found no occasion since that time to study. But, as I
gathered from Lancelot, they were volumes that treated of ideal
commonwealths.
Captain Amber's first idea, it appeared, was to establish his little
following in one of His Majesty's American colonies. But while he was in
the Low Countries he had heard much of those new lands at the end of the
world, wherein the Dutch are so much interested, and it seems that the
Dutch Government, in gratitude to him for some services rendered, were
willing to make him a concession of land wherein to try his venture. At
least I think, as well as I can remember, that this was so; I know that
somehow or other the Dutch Government was mixed up in the matter.
What further resolved Captain Amber to go so far afield was, it seems,
the friendship he had formed while at Leyden with Cornelys Jensen. This
Jensen was a fellow of mixed parentage, a Dutch father and an English
mother, who had followed the sea all his life, and knew, it seemed, very
intimately those parts of the world whereto Captain Amber's thoughts
were turned.
Jensen was such a plausible fellow, and professed to be so enraptured
with Captain Amber's enterprise, that the Captain's heart was quite won
by the fellow, and from that time out he and Cornelys Jensen were hand
and glove together in the matter. Very valuable Jensen proved, according
to the Captain; full of experience, expeditious, and a rare hand at the
picking up of stout fellows for a crew. I found that Lancelot did not
hold him in such high regard as his uncle did, but that out of respect
for Captain Amber's judgment he held his peace.
As for the Captain's brother Nathaniel, his whole share in the
enterprise consisted in the advancing of moneys, on those ungentle terms
I have recorded, upon the broad lands and valuables which made my
Captain a man of much worldly gear.
Lancelot brought me to my door, we still talking of this and of that.
Lancelot came within for a little while and kissed my mother, who hung
on his neck for a moment and then cried a little softly, while Lancelot
spoke to her with those words of grave encouragement which seemed beyond
his years. Then he wished us good-night, and I saw him to the door, and
stood watching his tall form stepping briskly up the street in the clear
starlight.
The girl I spoke of but now, she in the play-book who lived like a man
in the greenwood, says--or bears witness that another said--that none
ever loved who loved not at first sight. This was true in my case. For
that unhappy business with the girl Barbara, though it was love sure
enough, was not such gracious love as that day entered into me and has
ever since dwelt with me.
Of course I had much to tell my mother and she listened, as interested
as a child in a fairy tale to all that had been said and done in the
Noble Rose. But most of all she seemed surprised to hear that a girl was
going to sea with us. She questioned me suddenly when I had made an end
of my story:
'What do you think of this maid Marjorie, Raphael?'
I felt at the mention of her name that the blood ran red in my face and
I was glad to think that the light in the room was not bright enough to
betray me, for I felt shy and angry at my shyness and knew that my
cheeks flamed for both reasons. But I tried to say unconcernedly that
truly Captain Amber was much blessed in such a niece and Lancelot in
such a sister. Yet while I answered I felt both hot and cold, as I have
felt since with the ague in the Spanish Islands.
We spoke no more of Marjorie that evening but at night I lay long hours
awake thinking of her, and when at last I fell asleep I slipped into
dreams of her, with her yellow hair, and the yellow flowers in her
girdle and the kindness of Heaven in her steadfast eyes.
There are many kinds of love in the world, as there are many kinds of
men and many kinds of women, but my love for Marjorie Amber was of the
best kind that a man can feel, and it made a man of me.
I have lived a wild life and a vagrant life, I know; but, anyway, my way
of life has been a clean way. I have never been a brawler nor a sot, and
I have never struck a man to his hurt unless when peril forced me. I
have never fought in wantonness or bad blood, but only out of some
necessity that would not be said nay to. And, indeed, there have been
times when I have let a man live to my own risk. So I hope when my ghost
meets elsewhere with the ghosts of my enemies that they will offer me
their shadowy fingers in proof that they bear me no malice and are aware
that all was done according to honourable warfare. There is the blood of
no vindictive death upon my fingers. What blood there is was blood spilt
honestly, in a gentlemanly way, in a soldierly way; and there is a
blessed Blood that will cleanse me of its stain.
That I can make this boast I owe in all thankfulness to two women. To my
mother first, and then to the girl who came to me at the very turn of my
life. If I can say truthfully that year in and year out my life has been
a fairly creditable one for a man that has followed fortune by sea and
by land the Recording Angel must even set it down to the credit of
Marjorie.